


Take Care

by JesusCheese



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Headaches & Migraines, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Jeon Wonwoo-centric, One Shot, Pain, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:26:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22902400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JesusCheese/pseuds/JesusCheese
Summary: Wonwoo's migraine is killing him- or, at least, that's what it feels like. The members to their best to make it all better.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Everyone
Comments: 13
Kudos: 341





	Take Care

**Author's Note:**

> For AmazingTook, who requesting a work about Wonwoo. Hope I satisfied your needs ;)

Jeon Wonwoo hated his brain sometimes. Normally, it was fine. It controlled his whole body, for god’s sake. So yes, Wonwoo didn’t have a problem with it- was quite fond of it actually.

Until his eye started twitching.

To normal people, maybe stress or a simple glitch.

Wonwoo had been dealing with migraines enough to know that it was a warning sign. He put his finger in the book page before slipping a piece of paper to mark his place. He left the story on his desk as he pushed open his bedroom door, headed for the bathroom. He knocked, the thuds echoing around his head like his brain wasn’t there.

“Come in,” a garbled reply came through the wood. He twisted the handle and offered a small smile to Joshua, who smiled back around his toothbrush.

“Ready for today?” his hyung asked, excited. They were going to an award show, which meant they were in for the long haul. Rehearsals, schedules, interviews, performance, speeches, and sitting through nearly four hours of flashing lights and effects that had Wonwoo’s head already spinning.

“Not in the least.” He rummaged through the cabinet and pulled out his headache medicine, popping one of them in preparation for the day. He was standing in the calm of the storm.

Joshua spit into the sink. “Headache?”

He hummed, sliding the medication into his pocket and laying his head on Joshua’s shoulder dramatically, hoping to lighten the situation. “Woe is me, hyung. Woe is me.”

It worked. The elder chuckled a bit, wrapping an arm around him and pushing him from the door. “Let me pee, woeful one. Make sure to drink water and bring your earplugs in the car. We don’t need a full blown migraine as soon as we get there, okay?”

He gave him a thumbs up as he retreated to his room to change into a hoodie and simple pair of pants. It was going to be a rough day, but he’d done this before. Everything would be fine, eventually.

…

He’d skipped breakfast. When his stomach was clenching and his body was floating and spinning, Wonwoo knew he would be thankful to himself. Everybody else had been too busy to pay him any attention, and some of the boys skipped breakfast daily anyways. 

When you’re always on a tight schedule, sometimes sleep is much more important.

With his closed eyes and earplugs, the ride was manageable. The potholes a bit jarring, he internally told his body to control itself because really, what good were migraines anyways? They don’t tell him that something is wrong and he should see the doctor- no, they just screw up his day and make him a jumbled ball of...ow. Damn government, not filling the roads with more cement. Damn brain not preventing pain.

There was a hand on his arm, shaking him. “Wake up, Wonu, we’re here.”

He hummed, unfolding the sunglasses in his pocket and slipping them on, hoodie pulled up around his face. Normally he loved being up and around this early in the morning- the rising sun warming his face in the chilled air as he moved from van to convention center. Today, though, the sun was the devil. He could not manage it. Even with the sunglasses, it was unbearable. He squinted and patted his pocket where his pills resided. Couldn’t take another for an hour, though. It was all going to be downhill from there.

The first practice wasn’t horribly strenuous. Sudden, yes, but not horrible. They’d been pushed onto the main stage to test mics and blocking, which basically meant being in the right spot at the right time. No dancing, no rapping, just remembering movements. Okay, this was okay.

They were done quickly, another group moving up right after them. In the back of his mind, Wonwoo recognized the faces of Monsta X but didn’t stop to talk to any of them. He headed straight to his backpack in their dressing room and popped two more pills, sighing in the realization that it would be another four hours before he could take more. 

In a normal situation, he wouldn’t need so many. But...in a normal situation, he’d be laying in his bed with the lights off and plus in his ears. With all the stimulation, even his heartbeat made his head throb. He laid on the couch, head on Joshua’s thigh. The elder immediately ran his fingers through his hair, holding out the ear plugs and headphones. He took them happily, not offering a thank you to him. 

“Slow and steady, Wonu,” Joshua reminded him. “Just try to make it through the day, and you’ll be allowed to sleep all you want at home.”

He hummed, turning his face into Joshua’s stomach to block out all light. He felt another hand on his back and the vibrations of his human pillow that signified a conversation. There was a soft pat on his shoulder, which let him know that Joshua had told whoever that was about his migraine. He didn’t care. He just didn’t want light. Or sound. Or movement. His eyes felt like they were growing and shrinking in their sockets as the tips of his fingers buzzed. Maybe he was dying.

“Wonwoo? We’ve got to eat lunch.” The speech was muffled. He couldn’t tell who it was. Didn’t really care either way.

“Already?” he asked, not moving from Joshua’s stomach. “How long has it been?”

“About three hours.”

Damn. No medicine. “I’m not hungry.”

“If you don’t eat, you’ll faint.” A hand ran up his back.

“If I do, I’ll vomit,” he returned, finally pushing himself into a sitting position with heavy arms and a head that flopped every which way. He pressed his temple. “It hurts.”

“I wish I could take it away,” Jeonghan sighed sadly. Oh. That’s who he’d been talking to. “Have something to eat, okay? I’ve got a light soup.”

He hummed, reaching out a hand with closed eyes. The broth was smooth and warm and not too horrible. He actually ended up finishing it in record time, though the main reason was he just wanted to sleep again. And so, he did.

They convinced the management to let him rest while the rest finished their preparations. By the time he was woken again, the stage was set, the lights were ready, and their stylists had already made it though half of the group.

“Hyung,” Chan tapped him. “It’s your turn for hair and makeup.”

He rubbed his eyes under his glasses, cringing at the noise and pushing himself into a sitting position. “What about practice?”

“Already done,” the maknae reported. “We wanted to let you rest...you already know what you’re doing anyways.”

“So what now?” he asked, giving up on toughing it out and just closing his eyes. His hand was pressed against his temple.

“Now, we’re getting ready for the red carpet. After the red carpet, we just gotta sit there for a few hours until our performance. After that, we can just go home...There’s no sense being there for only two or so more performances. You just gotta be there until then.”

Wonwoo hummed. “Okay…”

As it turns out, powering through a full-blown migraine was so, so much easier said than done. The makeup brushes on his face tickled and poked. The weight of the products on his skin made him feel heavy and tired, pulling his eyes closed. Wonwoo tried his best to answer the stylist’s attempts at conversation- really, he did. He just...couldn’t. He was so far gone.

But alas, he made it through. It simultaneously felt like four hours and four minutes- either way, it was too long. Somehow, he ended up in a car to take him to the grand entrance, smushed in the backseat between Jeonghan and Seungcheol. Their legs bounced, each sound reverberating through his brain harshly.

“Stop,” he whispered, laying hands on their knees. “No bouncing.”

“What?” Seungcheol asked, surprised at the lack of politeness. They’d grown blunt with each other over the years, polite words becoming unnecessary as their comfort grew. Despite that, they always maintained a level of speech that was...kind, at least. The members only grew this short and direct when they were upset or hurt. “Are you alright?”

“He’s got a migraine,” Jeonghan filled him in, wincing sympathetically. “Wonwoo, are your pills somewhere?”

“I took one already,” he murmured, wanting to bury his head in his hands. He couldn’t- the makeup artists had spent too much time on him already. He clasped his hands tightly in his lap, knuckles turning white with the pressure. It didn’t even come close to the pressure he felt in his head, throbbing throughout his whole body.

“Is there any way you can go home?” Jeonghan asked, rubbing the tense muscles on his little brother’s neck. “You can’t possibly perform like this.”

“It’s only a few hours,” he argued weakly, voice wobbling. “Only a few hours.”

Seungcheol sighed. “Did management say you had to be here? I can talk to them, Wonu.”

“No, I just...I need to stay.”

“You don’t.”

“Stop,” he breathed out, feeling the car slowing. They were in front of the red carpet. He needed to get out. Bright lights, yelling, interviews. His heart rate picked up. He felt like vomiting. Instead, he pushed himself to the front of the car, vision tilting with each movement. He just needed to get into the venue to sit. Then, he could put in his earplugs and work on preparing for the performance. Then, he could go home.

He just had to make it until then.

Yeah, he could do that.

Nearly the entire time they were posing for pictures, somebody beside him had an arm wrapped around his waist, pressure placed in just the right place to keep him from completely losing his mind. The worst part about migraines was that it wasn’t just pain- no, it was tingling, nausea, the feeling of your teeth vibrating in your skull, eyes growing and shrinking behind the lids, lips moving all on their own accord-

Wonwoo felt completely out of control. 

He didn’t speak to the interviewers- could only just hope that his face was kind and friendly enough. He didn’t have it in him to smile most of the time and hoped that a gentle slope in his eyebrows sufficed.

The glances he got told him that no, they were not.

This was, by far, one of the worst migraines he’d ever had. 

Nonetheless, he pushed on. The interviewers tired of them as more young men in suits poured from sleek black cars, spewing gas into the air and choking everybody in the vicinity. Wonwoo looked around to see if any of his members were struggling to breathe too, but they only continued walking forward, into the idol entrance.

He staggered along behind them, Soonyoung guiding him with a gentle hand on the small of his back, thumb running up down, up down, up down, a smooth, slow pattern. It was better than the throbbing pulses in Wonwoo’s brain.

He was then seated around Seventeen’s table, the piece of furniture overloaded with twenty six bottles of water- two for every member. There were screaming fans in the seats, and Wonwoo had never noticed just how loud they actually were. 

There were a few other members next to him, mainly doing their own thing. The others had run off to have a last minute bathroom break or talk to their friends in the industry. Wonwoo would’ve taken part- really, he did love catching up with the few friends that his busy lifestyle allowed. He couldn’t- not just then. Hell, he wasn’t sure he would be able to stand if told.

“You really don’t look good, hyung,” DK whispered, passing him a water bottle. The younger watched him fumble with the cap for a few moments before twisting it off himself, slipping it into his hyung’s hands. “I know you want to tough it out, but at this rate, you won’t make it through the performance.”

“I’m gonna take a pill,” he told his younger brother, voice no higher than a whisper. “The outside was just a lot.”

“The lights, audio, and fans will be a lot too. You know you can’t do this on stage with all the cameras and microphones...you’re sick. The fans will understand.”

“Listen to me,” he ordered, voice creaky. It wasn’t demanding whatsoever. “I’ll get through this just like everything else. Please stop.”

DK nodded, eyes on his lap. “I understand it...don’t push yourself too much. What’s impossible is impossible, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

…

The plugs numbed nearly all sounds, and Wonwoo had never been more thankful. He really did enjoy award shows- those were his friends up there on the stage, his idols, his juniors and seniors. He had a passion for music. Award shows were music heaven.

If only he could have his eyes open without sending a spike of pain into his brain.

With his eyes closed and earplugs in, it was nearly like he was in bed again, eyes closed and dorm under “Code Migraine”. That meant TV volume no higher than 10, headphones in all electronics, no yelling, and absolutely no going into Wonwoo’s room. 

The walls in their dorm were incredibly thin.

He was ripped from his half-bedroom state when fingers grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet. He wobbled, eyes opening and pain shooting down all the way into his jaw. Their album cover was on the big screens and fans were screaming. They’d won, and he didn’t feel excited at all. No, he was absolutely distraught. They’d have to perform. They’d have to give a speech.

He’d have to take out his earplugs.

And nothing compared to the staggering difference between a milky, underwater state of auditory input and a cacophony of sounds- yelling, music, clapping, whistling. It had bile rising in his throat. He forced it down.

A hand was around his back- Joshua’s, by the feel of it. He led him to the stage, not letting his hold drop even when they were standing, facing the thousands of people cheering them on. Wonwoo was swaying a bit, the sound feeling palpable, real, physical- a strong wind nearly blowing him over.

His vision swam and popped.

He was in front of the microphone, forcing an upturn of his lips. “Thank you Carat,” he spoke, voice cracking in the middle. “I love you all.”

And that was all that he had in him. The next member seemed to know that too, because he was moved aside for the next- much more thoughtful- message to their supporters. He was backstage no more than three minutes later, dressed in a new suit with a microphone taped to his cheek and in-ear monitors in.

He couldn’t hear anything. It was a blessing.

He sat on the couch just beside the main stage entrance, leg bouncing. His head was in his hands and his eyes were closed as he breathed deeply, trying to stop his heart from beating right out of his chest.

A hand took his once again, forcing him onto the stage, and he didn’t want to go. This was the last thing that they had to do, though. He would be done after this, and he didn’t want to. He really didn’t want to even step onto the stage.

Jeonghan’s fingers touched just under his eyes gently as he smiled a bit. “Don’t mess up your pretty makeup,” he whispered, voice coming through Wonwoo’s earphones rather than his actual mouth. “Three minutes. We’ll go home after. You’re doing so well.”

There were the lights, the announcer's bright teeth, the screaming of the fans, the countdown in his earphones, telling him when the first beat of the song would soundoff. It was all entirely overwhelming, but somehow, it managed to get worse when his hyung released his hand. Wonwoo understood- really, he did. Everybody had to get to their own places, and Jeonghan couldn’t spend the whole time taking care of him like he was a baby.

Come on Wonwoo, don’t be a baby.

4...3...2...1…

Move. Steps. Remember. Muscle memory. Tilting Forward too much- correction of posture. Straight back, punctual steps. Mumble along to the words and hope nobody notices. Make sure to smile. 

Best part about thirteen members was that everybody got small chunks of a larger project. Wowoo only got about fifteen seconds, and god, those alone nearly floored him. He wasn’t sure if he’d done well by the time the last tone sounded in his earphone, ringing through his empty head like a deflecting bullet.

Wonwoo didn’t feel good.

He wasn’t sure what was happening even as the cheers were drowned out by the announcer and he was led off stage. Wasn’t sure what was happening when he somehow landed on a couch in their dressing room, his members a frenzy around him.

Wonwoo didn’t feel good.

He tilted when a body landed next to him, squishing the couch. He needed to tell them what he felt, but suddenly his tongue wouldn’t cooperate, and all that came out was a groan, and he’d be stuck like that forever with nobody to help him and his face and fingers were starting to tingle, so he wiggled his hand in front of his face just to make sure that it was still indeed there, and-

“Hey, are you alright?”

Wonwoo didn’t feel good.

“Coups hyung, something’s wrong with Wonwoo.”

As happy as he was that they were finally noticing, he couldn’t get over the pang of agony that the yell sent through his entire body, sinking down into his toes and making his stomach all jumbly, and oh, oh no, he was going to-

“Shit! Hyung, hurry up!”

There was warmth running all down his chest, and he knew he’d just thrown up all over his nice clothes. Whoever was next to him didn’t seem to care that much, judging by the way he was held close and the fingers running through his hair. He couldn’t let them go- they were holding him and he felt like he was going to fall forward, forward, all the way down. The room was spinning.

He grabbed tight to his anchor, gasping as more people crowded him. “Help,” he blurted, eyes pinched shut as shivers ran up his spine. “H-hyung, help, help-”

“I’ve got you...it’s alright….” Jun? Was that Jun? Wonwoo couldn’t tell. Whoever it was would take care of him if he let go; he knew it. He could relax. He’d be taken care of. He let himself go, falling forward and letting sounds ebb away as hands scrabbled for his limp body. He was taken care of.

…

Seungcheol always got a sinking feeling in his gut when his name was called. Sometimes, it was one of the kids trying to drag him into trouble. Other times, he would have to break up a fight. Out of every possibility, Seuncheol’s absolute least favorite was when he was called to deal with an injury. 

He tried his best to comfort- he really did. As leader, he knew these kids were his responsibility. That didn’t stop his knees from locking and mind going blank when he was called. “Something’s wrong with Wonwoo.” The only thing he did was turn toward the scene.

Jun was holding Wonwoo by the back of his soiled jacket. The boy was the shade of paper with a sheen of sweat as fine as the precipitate on an ice cold drink. He was panting heavily, his hand coiled into a ball in front of his pinched eyes.

Joshua was the first to move, getting there just as Wonwoo pitched forward, seemingly unable to hold himself up any longer. One hand under his arm was enough to pull him away from the coffee table and into his own chest.

“Wonwoo, baby, tell hyung what’s wrong,” Joshua cooed, rubbing a thumb along Wonwoo’s jaw and pulling out his headphones that had remained in place since the performance. “Can somebody get a wet rag and find the medical staff?”

“I’ll get the rag,” Vernon’s voice came from somewhere.

“I’ll find a medic,” Minghao assured the rest of them. The door clicked closed.

Wonwoo grumbled, removing his hand from Jun’s arm. “I- I d...don’....feel...g-”

“Shh, it’s alright, we’ll take care of it. Coups?” Joshua asked, re-focusing his attention on the leader. “It’s your call...what do we do here?”

Swallow. Think. Decide. “He needs to go to the hospital...It could be...could be a stroke or-” he cut himself off, not wanting to scare the rest of the occupants of the room. “He just needs a hospital now. Mingyu, lift him and carry him to medical.”

“Of course,” Mingyu nodded, moving forward and promptly pulling Wonwoo into a bridal-style carry, the latter’s head laying uselessly on his muscular chest. His breath was puffing out regularly- too slow, too hard, but regularly.

Wonwoo would be okay. He just needed a doctor. They would take care of him.

…

“It was just a migraine?” Seungcheol asked, holding his little brother’s hand tightly. “That’s it?”

“A very severe migraine, yes.” The doctor spoke down at his clipboard, inspecting the monitor attached to his patient before scribbling onto said board and ripping a slip of paper from it. “I would suggest prescription medicine for these migraines, considering how regularly they happen and your high-stress lifestyle. Pushing yourself like this was dangerous, young man,” he scolded Wonwoo gently. “I sincerely hope the medication will make things easier for you.”

“Thank you,” Wonwoo spoke, shaking his hand weakly. He still felt drained, but whatever the hospital had pumped into his body was certainly working its magic. He just wanted to get back home. “It won’t happen again.”

“I sure hope not. Do you have any more questions, Mr. Jeon?” 

“Can I go home?”

He chuckled. “Go ahead and change clothes. The nurses have your discharge paperwork. Have a good day, Mr. Jeon.”

“Thank you.”

The door clicked closed and his head fell back against the pillow. “You guys have to promise me you won’t do the thing when we get home.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you don’t let me piss, eat, drink, or sleep alone. I feel fine now, and I’ve got medicine now.”

“We promise to let you pee alone,” Jeonghan assured him. 

“Gee, what a privilege,” Wonwoo deadpanned, pushing himself from the bed and rolling his eyes when at least three members rushed forward to help him. He was going to have to get used to this treatment, he guessed.

He’d be taken care of.

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a comment if you'd like!


End file.
